


we're ten thousand miles apart

by amsves



Series: the zero hour [1]
Category: Code Geass
Genre: Angst, Gen, Light Angst, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Requiem, Zero Requiem, can be shippy or not depending on how you feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amsves/pseuds/amsves
Summary: Lelouch’s life is drawing to a close.He knows it; Suzaku knows it; C.C. knows it. The Emperor, the Sword, and the Shield, the (un)Holy Trinity, they are all aware that Lelouch’s time is running out.The final hours before the Zero Requiem, narrated by Suzaku.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'California king bed' by Rihanna, which is also the recommended listening for this fic.

Lelouch’s life is drawing to a close.  
  
He knows it; Suzaku knows it; C.C. knows it. The Emperor, the Sword, and the Shield, the (un)Holy Trinity, they are all aware that Lelouch’s time is running out.   
  
Lelouch broke the news to him last night, about the Zero Requiem. He’d handed Suzaku the (cursed, _cursed_ ) mask of Zero and asked him to embody the hopes of the world, to avenge all those whom Lelouch had mercilessly slaughtered for the sake of his ambition, to _kill_ his only remaining friend in this terribly cruel world. Suzaku had accepted, because what else could he do? But he didn’t want this, not really.   
  
They’re lying in the grass, Lelouch and Suzaku are, in one of the many gardens in the Pendragon Imperial Palace. It’s a beautiful afternoon: sunny, but breezy enough to warrant a slight chill. Lelouch is dressed in his white robes, as always; Suzaku hasn’t seen him in plainclothes since the day they took over the empire. Suzaku, for his part, is in his matching Knight uniform. He hasn’t seen C.C. yet today, but they’re holding court later, so she’ll be in her matching gown. The clothes they wear are heavy, laden with thick fabrics and jewels but also with expectations, responsibilities, hopes. Suzaku thinks that that’s on purpose.  
  
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Lelouch remarks.  
  
They’re lying side-by-side, both gazing up at the cloudless cerulean sky. Neither has said a word for at least an hour, possibly more.  
  
“You’re one to talk,” he retorts, because that’s true. Lelouch has taken to prolonged periods in which he does not speak at all, simply wafts through the halls of his stolen palace like a ghost. His footsteps make no noise, and his robes just barely glide along the ground. He does look like a phantom, sometimes, and that’s just cruel irony, in Suzaku’s opinion.  
  
Lelouch is dying soon enough. There’s no need for this distasteful foreshadowing.  
  
“I’m always quiet,” he hears Lelouch sigh just above the breeze. “You, however, I normally cannot get to shut up.”  
  
Suzaku chuckles. “What can I say? I’m finally learning.”  
  
The sunlight is warm on their faces. The grass waves slightly in the breeze, tickling Suzaku’s ear.   
  
Though he cannot see Lelouch’s face, he knows that the other is deeply sad, and he knows this because he has been there all these days and weeks and months. Suzaku knows that ever since Lelouch took the key to the FLEIJA out of Nunnally’s hands, ever since he left her behind on the Damocles, ever since she called him a demon, he has been broken deep inside. He’d always been broken, but Nunnally was his foundation, and without her he is a house built on sand.   
  
Well, maybe not a house. Lelouch is too grand for that. Maybe a palace akin to this one. But whatever the structure, it’s built on sand all the same.   
  
And now the tide is coming in.  
  
Suzaku has been there for Lelouch on the days when he can’t get out of bed, when he can’t bring himself to eat breakfast, when he stares off into space without warning, when his sentences are cut short because he forgets what he was going to say. Lelouch never says “thank you” when Suzaku hauls him out of his (too big, someone as slender as Lelouch could never need a bed that big, even with C.C. in it) bed, drags him down to breakfast, feeds him eggs by the forkful, calls him back to reality when he forgets where he is, but Suzaku knows that Lelouch is so, so grateful all the same.  
  
When you’re preparing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of the world, words must fall by the wayside.  
  
Lelouch had finally told Suzaku what he planned to do last night, and in three days the plan will be carried out.   
  
Lelouch gave Suzaku just seventy-two hours to come to terms with what he must do.  
  
It’s a little unfair, Suzaku thinks.   
  
But, then again, would he have wanted to live with this any longer? Would he have been able to bear the weight of that sin on top of all the others for much longer than seventy-two hours?  
  
Maybe Lelouch had been doing him a favor.  
  
Lelouch works in mysterious ways. Suzaku has long since given up trying to understand. Following orders was what he was good at. Mental chess was Lelouch’s forte.   
  
Suzaku knew he wasn’t that good at chess, but he did understand the basic rules well enough to question Lelouch’s strategies. Sure, the King must lead if he expects his subjects to follow, but the game ends when the King is placed in checkmate, or captured. So how was Lelouch supposed to win if he sacrificed himself?  
  
(Suzaku knew the answer. Lelouch was never supposed to win. But that didn’t mean he accepted it.)  
  
Lelouch is silent beside him. He emits no noise, not even from the rustle of his robes. He’s untouchable. ~~(Like a ghost.)~~  
  
Suzaku has to extend a hand to his side, has to grip Lelouch’s hand in his just to know that the other boy is still there beside him.   
  
In his grip, Lelouch’s hand (soft, so soft, like’d never done a day’s work in his life, and of course he hadn’t, not really, but still, compared to Suzaku’s calloused palm it feels like silk) is cold.   
  
He runs a thumb over Lelouch’s knuckles. The other doesn’t notice, doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound. Suzaku tilts his head to gaze at Lelouch’s face, and finds the other in one of his characteristic dazes. He’s looking up at the sky intently, like there’s something up there that Suzaku can’t see.   
  
Maybe there is. Maybe Heaven reveals itself to the dying.   
  
(They both know that Lelouch will never see Heaven, never gaze upon those fabled pearly gates, never meet Saint Peter with his Keys to the Kingdom, never walk on clouds and strum harps and do whatever else angels do, because Lelouch is not, can not, _will_ not ever be an angel to anyone but Suzaku and C.C.  
  
And maybe Nunnally, one day.)  
  
How long they stay in that garden, Suzaku isn’t sure. After he’d given his pocket watch to Euphemia, he’d never bothered to buy a second one. At any rate, the sun had just begun its descent when they’d ventured out, and now it’s blinking on the horizon. Suzaku can safely guess it’s been quite a while, quite a few hours.   
  
It feels like a waste of a day, really, just lying around out in the sun and the grass for hours when you know that there’s so much more they could be doing to finish up their time together, to make the last few days of Lelouch’s stay on Earth more meaningful, more special, _more_ , but he suspects that Lelouch is tired of living and just wants to spend his final days in as much peace as he can find. Impending death via murder by a childhood friend can really put a downer on the mood, Suzaku’s found. He’s honestly surprised that Lelouch is holding up as well as he is.   
  
If, you know, all the side-effects he’s just listed off can be classified as ‘holding up well.’  
  
The sun gives a final flash before settling in to bed behind the horizon, and Suzaku stands for the first time in hours. He stretches towards the sky, feeling the joints in his spine crack and pop as he gives a shuddering yawn. He extends a helping hand to his emperor, who gratefully accepts, and Suzaku pulls his friend up to stand next to him. Lelouch’s eyes are less cloudy, now, then they were just a little while ago; the violet gleams brightly, dangerously, in the fast-fading light.  
  
“Let’s go inside,” Suzaku suggests, and Lelouch doesn’t say anything, but dips his head and smiles. He lets Suzaku lead the way to his room, doesn’t say a word as his knight helps him remove layer after layer of alabaster ceremonial robes, stained slightly green from their nap in the grass. Suzaku, for his part, doesn’t speak either, only helps his companion get ready before laying him gently in the center of his cavernous bed. Lelouch’s fingers run lightly over the sheets next to him, and Suzaku knows from days gone by in the old Japan that it’s an invitation. He climbs into the bed beside his emperor, not speaking, not touching, just being.   
  
It’s reminiscent of how they used to be, and how they were just a short time ago, in the garden, but it’s slightly _wrong_. It’s like looking at a photograph, Suzaku reasons: that’s clearly you there, in the faded polaroid, but you don’t remember it like that because that isn’t how you saw it, isn’t you behind the lens but rather in front. Lying here like this with Lelouch, he can see their younger selves.  
  
They were never carefree children; Lelouch had already experienced more hurt in his ten years of childhood than any human had the dignity to bear, and Suzaku had more pressure placed on him than any child could feasibly carry, but they were freer than they are now, anyways.   
  
Suzaku never thought he’d mourn for his childhood like he is now.   
  
Except, he isn’t, really. He’s mourning for Lelouch’s.   
  
And Nunnally’s, too, he supposes. Though she hates her brother now, or at least she should, should think him a monster and a demon and a dictator and the antithesis of all he’d ever promised her, Suzaku knows that in just a few days she’ll find it excruciating to harden her heart against him. There’s something about corpses that dredge up all the love you’ve buried.   
  
He should know. He killed his father, after all.  
  
Seventy-two hours remain. Well, not even, anymore. Suzaku hasn’t bothered to glance at a clock, but he’d reckon it’s about sixty-nine now, or sixty-eight.   
  
Just sixty-eight more hours.  
  
No wonder Lelouch is so …  
  
A tear leaks out of the corner of Suzaku’s eye before he can stop it. He moves to wipe it away with the back of his hand, but Lelouch’s slender fingers beat him to it.   
  
That’s the last Lelouch moves for the rest of the night.  
  
Suzaku hears his breathing mellow out into something like peace, knows that Lelouch has slipped off into the dreamland for now, hopes that there won’t be any nightmares tonight. He deserves sweet dreams, or at least no dreams at all.   
  
Lelouch is lying next to him. Suzaku could reach out and touch him with almost no effort, could extend his arm ever so slightly and brush his fingers against Lelouch’s cool skin, but it feels like he’s worlds away.  
  
Imminent death does that to a person.  
  
Suzaku sits up, careful not to disturb his sleeping companion, and takes in his surroundings. He’s never really payed attention to Lelouch’s bedroom in the few weeks they’ve been there. It’s too opulent for Lelouch’s tastes, he knows, and the color scheme is all wrong. This could never have been Lelouch’s room. He must feel like an imposter in his own home. And he is, really: he’s been lying to everyone, even Suzaku, for the last eight years of his life. His name, his lineage, his intentions, even his memories for a time were fake, pale imitations that came apart at the seems if gripped too tightly by fingers too inquisitive. His whole existence had been a lie.  
  
A terrifyingly lonely sensation grips Suzaku’s heart. He grimaces. Even if Lelouch had been living a lie, he’d given a small glimpse of the truth to his Sword and Shield, Suzaku and C.C. He may be horridly lonely, but he certainly isn’t alone. Lelouch will be loved up until the moment of his death, even if it’s only by his traitorous best friend and an immortal witch, even if the rest of the world hates him, even if his own sister has renounced their blood ties.   
  
It’s not ideal, but at least he won’t be alone.  
  
Suzaku, though, Suzaku will be alone after Lelouch leaves.  
  
He and C.C. get along fine, but there’s no deep ties between them. She’ll wander off eventually, with no more connection to this wretched place, and find a new contractor to fulfill her one wish. Suzaku just hopes she finds what she’s looking for soon, and chooses her accomplices wisely. The world does not need another Lelouch so soon.  
  
Nunnally will probably never speak to him ever again. After all, she believes him dead, as does the rest of the world. She might speak to Zero, but it’ll never be the same. Suzaku knows this, and accepts it. He has no choice. He must atone for his sins, as must Lelouch.  
  
If he could, though, Suzaku would trade places with his emperor. He deserves to die. Lelouch doesn’t exactly deserve to live, but he could do more for Nunnally than Suzaku ever could.  
  
He’s never mentioned this to Lelouch, but Nunnally had confided in him, once, when Lelouch was inexplicably absent, that all she ever wanted was to be with her brother. Suzaku knows that if he ever let this fact slip, Lelouch would break apart completely under the weight of his crippling failure. If he ever learned that all he’d worked for had been for naught, he’d surely …  
  
Suzaku doesn’t know. He’s afraid to guess.  
  
He glances over at Lelouch. The other lies painfully still, like he’s training for what’s to come. His chest barely rises and falls, his lips are barely parted, his nostrils barely flare. Very slowly, he cracks one eye, and sees his knight staring at him. “Watching me sleep?” he rasps.  
  
Lelouch’s voice has taken on a raspy quality from disuse. Suzaku finds it disheartening, like the way he glides through hallways and the way he’s always too silent, too pale, too _unnatural_ to be alive.   
  
Suzaku doesn’t dignify that remark with a response, just smiles and reaches out to clasp Lelouch’s spindly hand in his own. He lies back down next to his …  
  
His … what?  
  
“Hey, Lelouch,” he whispers. He’s not sure why he's whispering. The walls are thick enough that no one could hear even if he talked at a normal volume, but the moment feels too intimate for anything but a murmur.   
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“What are we?”  
  
Lelouch is silent (of course, that’s all he ever is) for several long moments. Thirty-seven shallow (too shallow) heartbeats pass before he answers.   
  
“We’re a tragedy waiting to happen, Suzaku.”


End file.
